The Lion\'s Brood

D >> Duffield Osborne >> The Lion\'s Brood

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Marcia, despite her complicity, listened, shuddering, to these
sacrilegious words; and, mingled with her shrinking from a philosophy
that dared to talk of the immortals as mere means to be used or cast
aside as human ends might dictate, was a terror lest similar reasoning
should at last find place in Hannibal's mind and thus bring to naught
her aims and her sacrifices. It was easy to see how the general chafed
at the unwonted delay, and with what willingness he listened when
another spoke the words which he himself dared not utter.

Calavius had but just finished his tirade when they both turned at a
slight noise and saw Iddilcar standing in the entrance of the room.
How long he had been there--what he had heard, neither knew, but his
face wore the subtle smile which, though well-nigh native to its lines,
yet seemed always to bear some hidden import.

"The favour of Melkarth and of the Baalim be with you!" he said softly.
"Your servants, my Pacuvius, are not over-well trained. There was no
offer to bear word of my coming--no offer of attendance. The porter
hardly deigned to swing the door for me."

Marcia, knowing Iddilcar as she did, was prompt to take this speech in
the light of an explanation of his eavesdropping; but the once sharp
intelligence of Calavius had been too much deadened to search for
secondary meanings.

"I am an old man, priest," he said querulously. "Why should I leave
stripes and crying behind me?"

Iddilcar shrugged his shoulders. "That may be," he replied, "but if we
had such servants as yours in Carthage we should send their shades
ahead of us."

He had indeed deftly parried any attack or inquiry. Then, suddenly,
and of his own accord, he turned back to strike.

"And so you have been condemning the piety of the schalischim? the
integrity of the college of priests? the truth of the gods themselves,
for aught I know? Have a care!"--he was lashing himself into a
fury--"I have listened to your words. If I reported them, how long
before you would both be sent to Carthage to keep comradeship with that
terrible fellow, Decius Magius? Have care! have care lest the gods
strike through me, their servant. Nevertheless the gods are merciful
to those who bring offerings--peace-offerings of gold and jewels and
raiment and spices. Come, what will you give me that I smother their
wrath--I, Iddilcar, your friend, whom you speak ill of behind his
back--whom you hate---yes, both of you;" and his eyes flashed at Marcia
with a strange recklessness that she had never seen in them.

Wondering and terrified, she listened to his outburst of rage, but
Calavius heard it calmly, and answered, without troubling himself to
probe its import.

"You shall have a talent of silver and such jewels as you choose," he
said, rising. "I will go and give the orders."

"Orders!" sneered the other; but to Marcia it seemed that the word and
look covered suspicion at the ready acquiescence of the Capuan.

"Then I will go with you and see that these orders are obeyed. Come;
ah!--" and he turned to Marcia; "and will you be here when I return? I
wish to speak with you."

She inclined her head, still wondering, and when they had left the room
her wonder deepened. Surely a change had taken place. A Carthaginian
was always said to love money, but for Iddilcar to seek to obtain it by
such crude and violent means, from a man whom his general professed to
honour and protect, seemed to augur something of which she knew not.
Either Hannibal's protection was to be, for some reason, withdrawn, or
else?--but what else could embolden the priest to such license? The
look, too, with which he had regarded herself! She had restrained him
with some difficulty during the past months, but now she felt
instinctively that her control had vanished. Even violence seemed
near; for that Iddilcar could be fool enough to dream that his mere
repetition of the words he had listened to, would enrage Hannibal, she
did not for a moment believe. The general had heard the same from
Calavius, face to face, and had only frowned and bit his lips behind
his beard, as if feeling their justice. What, then, could have
happened?

"Ah! you are still here."

She looked up quickly, and saw that the priest had returned alone. He
went on, speaking quickly and nervously, but in low tones:--

"The time has come. And so you were thinking, thinking of what? Was
it rejoicing that Tanis was to give you to me so soon?" and he showed
his teeth, like a dog. "Listen: they suspect me. I have done all as
you wished, but there was a council to-day in the camp before
Casilinum, and Maharbal fell on his knees, as he did after Cannae, and
begged to march north,--not with the cavalry alone, as then; he knew it
was too late for that: and the schalischim knit his brows and frowned.
Then Hasdrubal and Karthalo added their prayers and pleadings,
gathering around him, and then he turned his sombre face to me, and
asked if it was permitted; but, before I could answer, for my mind was
disturbed, that animal whom they call, 'The Fighter' had drawn his
sword and held it over my head, crying out: 'Yes, friends, it is
permitted--see! It is permitted;' and then I felt myself grow pale,
and I heard the great beast laugh. A moment later and Hannibal had
ordered him to put up his sword, and I saw Maharbal whispering quick
words in the general's ear, among which it seemed to me that his lips
formed your name. Again, Hannibal asked: 'Is it permitted, Iddilcar?
or what sacrifice will your lord have from us? Have we not served him
faithfully? Is there aught he wishes?' and I felt all their eyes on
me; but, above all, were yours that were soon to smile. Therefore I
took courage, which the lord Melkarth granted, and spoke boldly,
explaining that I had as yet been able to win no favour, though I had
prayed long and fasted and lashed myself with thongs, whereupon
Hannibal-the-Fighter made as if to tear off my mantle, laughing in his
beard; and when I saw they did not believe me, my terror came back.
Then it was that Melkarth shed wisdom upon his servant, and, after a
moment's thought, I spoke up, thus:--

"'Listen, lords,' I said; 'I am a native Carthaginian, like you all,
and I reverence the gods. Howbeit it may chance that here, beyond the
sea, it is not so easy to win their favour, so that they shall go
before us. New and strange sacrifices and pleadings wherein I am
untaught may be needed to pierce the denser ether of this land. Truly,
lords, as ye have not failed in piety, neither have I erred in
divination, for Melkarth has spoken many times, telling me of the
unnumbered woes that would overwhelm the army if it marched upon Rome
unbidden, and he hath spoken truth, and I have saved you to revile me
for it--only I would learn if there be yet speech better fitted to his
ear.' I paused, and they were silent, wondering. Then I spoke on:
'Grant me, lords, three days, that I may journey to Cumae; for I have
heard that a woman dwells there, wise in the ways of the gods, and, if
I bear her rich presents, it may happen that she will teach me the
words that shall pierce this dull air, even to where Baal-Melkarth sits
enthroned in Mappalia, that he may grant all your wishes.' So I
crossed my arms upon my breast, and, bowing my head, listened. 'At
Cumae?' growled Jubellius Taurea, who sat near me, 'say, rather, at the
house of Pacuvius Calavius,' and I felt myself trembling, for then I
knew surely that I had heard Maharbal aright, and that I was suspected.
Still, I stood fast, and at last Hannibal spoke: 'Go to Cumae for three
days,' he said sternly. 'Take what you wish--one talent, two, three;
only bring back the words that shall win favour;' and Hasdrubal added:
'And harken! lord; if you win not favour, we shall yet march, and
peradventure you shall come with us--if they drive not the nails too
deep;' but there was an outcry at this, for they trembled lest Melkarth
should smite them, and Hasdrubal spoke again, grumbling: 'Ah, masters,
you have not seen soldiers as I have seen them, becoming bloated with
wine and food, and soft in the arms of courtesans;' but Hannibal
interrupted him, crying out to me again: 'Go!--go! There is little
time for the march, and it may be we are already too late. Go and do
all things so that the lord, Baal-Melkarth, shall favour us.' So I
went out, and, having taken their talents, I am here. This old sheep
has disgorged another talent together with gems. Therefore come now
and we shall escape hence."

Marcia saw a dimness before her, amid which his jewels and bracelets
and earrings seemed to mingle strange glancings with the fires that
burned in his eyes. At last she faltered:--

"But your work?--it is not finished. How shall I know?--if I go with
you?--"

The rings on his hand were sinking deep into her wrist; his lips were
close to her ear.

"Ah! you will not go? You will play with me--deceive me? Listen now.
To-morrow I shall be here with horses and money--in the morning--very
early--before light; and you will go like a little bird that is tamed.
These days will give us time to gain more, if more be needed. Look! I
have hazarded all. Shall I lose my reward now because my work be
unfinished by ever so little? It may be that, having gone, I shall not
return. Do you think I will leave you here to laugh at me? You will
go, or, to-morrow, Baal-Melkarth shall speak the word, and, before
midday, Hannibal shall give orders to march to Rome. Why do you think
I have gathered this wealth? Look! I have risked all for it, and you
shall not escape."

Exhausted by his rapid vehemence, he stood back, breathing hard and
trying to smile.

"Ah! moon of Tanis, you will come," he murmured, holding out his arms.
"We shall escape to Sicily--to Greece--to Egypt--to the far East. We
shall be rich with the spoils of fools--"

A slight scraping noise came to their ears, and both started. Iddilcar
sprang swiftly to the entrance of the room, but the lamp in the hall
had gone out, and his eyes saw nothing in the darkness. Uncertain what
to do, he looked back to where Marcia stood, pale and rigid. His voice
and hands trembled as he repeated in a loud whisper:--

"You will come? You will be ready?"

"Yes," she said, "I will come;" but she did not look at him, as she
spoke, only she caught the triumphant gleam of his eyes; a thousand
weird lights seemed to whirl around her, and she felt herself sinking.
It seemed, for a moment, as if a slave in a gray tunic was supporting
her, and then all consciousness fled.

XI.

THE SLAVE.

It was an hour past midnight, when Marcia first knew the agony of
returning reason. The gong in the Forum had just struck. Where was
she? Surely in her own apartment! How had she come there? Then,
slowly, the memory of yesterday grew clear--the awful duty of
to-morrow. With eyelids fast shut, as if dreading to open them to the
darkness, she buried her throbbing temples beneath the rich Campanian
coverlid. She could still see the eyes of Iddilcar gleaming wolfish
amid his jewels; could see him standing in the doorway, as he turned
from that startled rush in pursuit of what had been, doubtless, only a
whisper of their imaginations. He had said he would come for
her--before daybreak--and she must be ready. Later, she could approach
death with suppliant hands, but now she must be ready. Her life was
not her own yet. It was her country's. Later, the shade of Lucius
would beckon. Surely he would forgive her for having avenged him. But
how had she reached her room? Had it been Calavius or the slaves who
had found her? did they suspect? Then she remembered the man who had
seemed to catch her as she fell. Where could Iddilcar have been then?
Had he hurried away? probably enough. Again a slight scratching noise,
as of some one softly changing his position,--like the sound which had
startled the priest, came to her ears. Ah, protecting gods! what was
true, and what but dreams? Her whole life was passing before her,
phantasmagorial and unreal. Surely some one was present! She _felt_
it. Had Iddilcar come already? The horror of the thought gave her
courage, and, thrusting down the coverlid, she opened her eyes
defiantly and tried to pierce the darkness. Nothing was visible, but
she knew she was not alone, and, leaning upon one elbow, she reached
out, groping.

Suddenly a hand grasped hers, a strong, bony hand, gripping it tightly,
and by its very energy commanding silence. It seemed strange to her
that she did not scream, but then she had known that she would find
some one, and had the hand been Iddilcar's, she would certainly have
realized it by the loathing in her soul. For her, now, all other men
had become friends. Therefore she was not frightened, did not cry
out--rather it was a soothing sense of companionship that came to
her--almost of reliance. Why had this man come?--perhaps to help her;
surely not to injure. Who was he? man or god? Gods had appeared to
those of olden times, when the Republic was young, and Romans
worshipped, believing. She felt very brave--fearless.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"I am a slave," answered a voice. "I brought you here, and I am
watching."

It was a voice that, while it rang hard, yet had in it an assurance of
protection--even of power, and it thrilled her as with some familiar
memory. Nevertheless she could not place its owner in the household.
Calavius had many slaves; a few of them had been free-born, and some,
perhaps, might even have known a measure of social standing, before the
turn of war or of financial fortunes had lost them to home and position.

"Who are you?" she asked again.

"I am a new servant," said the other. "Pacuvius Calavius bought me
yesterday in the Street of the Whitened Feet."

She was silent a moment, trying hard to think; she felt the man's hand
trembling, and then, suddenly realizing, she drew her own away.

"And yet you are going to-morrow with this beast--this animal!" said
the voice, bitterly.

Startled again by the tone and accent, no less than by the words, she
burst out:--

"Ah! why do you say that?--but you do not know, and I cannot tell you.
Yes, you are right. I am going away to-morrow. I am--a courtesan.
What then?"

"By the gods! no!" he cried, and she heard him spring to his feet.
Then, lowering his voice, "If I thought _that_, I would kill you."

"You would only forestall my own blow," she said quietly, and there was
new silence.

At last he spoke again.

"Tell me all of this matter. You are safe. I am a Roman."

"A Roman--and a slave?"

"And a slave. Tell me the truth quickly."

The voice sounded weak and hollow now, but still strangely familiar.
She began her story, speaking in a low monotone.

"I am Marcia, daughter of Titus Manlius Torquatus. I loved, and yet I
drove my lover from me, and he was killed on the black day of Cannae.
Then the Senate feared lest the enemy should advance to Rome--prayed
for the winter--for time. And I was beautiful, and I had no love, save
for the king, Orcus. So the thought came to me that by my
blandishments I might win power with these people, and, by power,
delay, and, by delay, safety for Rome--and revenge for my lord, Lucius.
Therefore I journeyed to Capua. You see that I have played my
part--that I have won? Tomorrow I go to pay the price. What matters
it? Then I can die."

He had listened in silence; only she heard his breath coming hard, and,
a moment after she had finished, he spoke:--

"No--you cannot die--not thus. _I_ have died--once, yet I live.
Listen! I, like the lover you tell of, was slain at Cannae, pierced
through by javelins, and I lay with the dead heaped above me--ah! so
many hours--days, perhaps--I do not know; until the slave-dealers,
passing among the corpses, found me breathing, and wondered at my
strength, auguring a good value. Therefore they took me, and when I
was well of my wounds they brought me here--to Capua, and sold me to
Pacuvius Calavius--to whom may the gods give the death of a traitor!
Lo! now, let it be for a warning that Orcus does indeed send back the
dead from Acheron."

He leaned forward, as he spoke the words, and there came to Marcia a
sudden memory of two occasions when she had used the ancient
saying--the colloquial "never" of Rome. Once it had bound her to
Iddilcar, and once, far back, in happier times, it had parted her
forever from Sergius. Tears rolled down her cheeks. A dim light
seemed to be creeping into the room--very dim, but as her eyes grew dry
again, she could begin to trace the outlines of her companion sitting
on a low stool beside her couch. Surely those were footsteps in the
hall--yes, footsteps--and the approaching light of a lamp.

Marcia's heart stood still. The slave had started from his seat and
drawn far back in the darkest corner of the room; then the curtains
were pushed cautiously aside, and the tall form of Iddilcar stood
revealed by the light of the small, silver lamp he bore in his hand. A
long, dark mantle enveloped him from head to foot.

"Come," he said, speaking sharply but in low tones; and, holding the
lamp above his head, he tried to peer into the apartment. "Come; it
will soon be light. Ah! you have not arisen? No matter; I have
another cloak, and we must not delay. The slaves are well bribed, and
Calavius sleeps soundly--forever. My horses, good horses, are in the
street; a few moments and we gain the gate. The schalischim's own ring
is on my finger, and the seal of the Great Council shall win us egress.
_You_ are my slave: that is how you shall go with me--and I accept the
omen."

He laughed low and harshly, and Marcia shuddered, thinking of her host
lying slain--by his false slaves?--by the order of Hannibal?--no,
rather by the hand or plotting of this wretch who now called her,
"slave."

"Come, come quickly, Romanus," he said, mimicking the Latin
nomenclature of foreign slaves. At the same time he took a step
forward into the room and let the curtains fall behind him. "Come, or
I shall have to order the rods to those white shoulders. That would
be--"

And then a shadow seemed to glide forward from the corner half behind
him. For a moment a stream of lamplight fell upon a white, set face
behind the Carthaginian's shoulder--a face that was indeed from the
land of the four rivers; an arm was lashed around the priest's neck,
and, while Marcia stared spellbound at the shade that had come back to
save her, the lamp fell from Iddilcar's hand,--and then she lay still
and listened to the furious struggle that ensued, the scuffling of feet
upon the marble floor, the breathing that came and went in short, quick
gasps. Now it seemed that both fell together; but not in victory or
defeat, for the noises told of continuing combat; no words, only the
horrible sound of writhing and of hard-drawn breath.

Breaking at last from the bonds of dazed wonder, she glided from the
couch, groping for the fallen lamp. She must _see_. She must _know_.
Then she remembered the room-lamp that stood on a stand by the bed, and
began to feel her way toward it. The grating of metal against metal
came to her ears, followed by a low exclamation and a sharp "Ah!"
gasped exultantly; then came the sound of two fierce blows.

She had found the lamp now, and was trying to strike a light. The
victory was still undecided, though the combatants seemed to groan with
each breath they drew. At last the wick caught the spark, and the
mellow light and the odour of perfumed oil began slowly to fill the
room. A statuette or vase came crashing to the floor, and, raising the
lamp high above her head, she threw its light upon the struggling men.
For a moment she could make out nothing except a dark mass at her feet.
Then she caught the glitter of a weapon, and at last her eyes grasped
something of the situation.

Iddilcar was undermost. She could see his black, curling beard that
seemed matted and ragged now, while the Roman--the man who bore the
face of the dead Sergius--was extended upon him, grasping, with both
hands, the Carthaginian's wrists. It was the latter who held the blade
that had glittered--a long Numidian dagger, but the hold upon his
wrists prevented his using it, and the Roman dared not release either
hand to wrench it away. There were bruises, too, on Iddilcar's
face--the blows of fists; but the blood on the floor told of some other
wound, doubtless the Roman's, inflicted before he could restrain the
hand that dealt it. Now, neither seemed able to accomplish further
injury, until the strength of one should fail; and if it was her
protector's blood that was flowing?--the thought was ominous. Neither
dared to cry out, for the aid that might come was too doubtful, and,
besides, they needed to husband all the air their lungs could gain.

Marcia saw these things and thought them clearly, quickly, and in
order. Her mind seemed to grow as strangely calm as if busied in
selecting some shade of wool for her distaff. She reached down and, by
a quick movement, twisted the dagger from the stiffened, weary fingers
of the Carthaginian. A cry burst from him--the first since the
triumphant "Ah!" that had doubtless come from his lips when he used the
weapon, a few moments since. He writhed furiously, and Marcia stood,
holding the dagger in her hand, hesitating rather through dread of
injuring this new Sergius that had arisen to aid her.

The Roman, however, seeing himself freed from the necessity of guarding
against the sharp point that had menaced him, now suddenly released the
wrists of his adversary, and, grasping him by the throat, he lifted his
head several times, and struck it violently against the pavement. The
Carthaginian groaned, and his hold relaxed for a moment. Then, tearing
himself free, and with one hand still gripping the throat of the
prostrate man, the Roman raised his body, and, turning toward Marcia,
reached out for the dagger. With eyes fixed wonderingly on his, she
gave it to him, as if only half conscious of her act.

Again the scene changed. Less helpless than he had seemed, and with
staring eyes, before which death danced, Iddilcar gathered all his
remaining strength for one last, despairing effort, wrenched himself
loose, and staggered to his feet.

Then Marcia saw Sergius, for she knew now it was indeed he, saw him
throw himself forward on his knees, and, catching Iddilcar about the
hips, plunge the blade into his side.

The priest shrieked once, as he felt the point, and struggled furiously
to escape, raining blows upon the other's head and shoulders. Again
the long dagger rose and fell, piercing the man's entrails. Gods!
would he never fall?--and still he maintained his footing, but now his
hands beat only the air, and his struggles became agonized writhings.
Sergius' grip about his hips had never loosened, and the dagger rose
and fell a third time. Iddilcar groaned long and deeply and sank down
in a heap, carrying his slayer with him.

XII.

FLIGHT.

Slowly Sergius disengaged himself from the death grip that entangled
him, and, rising, turned to where Marcia stood. Still holding the
lighted lamp above her head and peering forward, she gazed into his
eyes with a look wherein wonder and terror were mingled with awakening
joy.

"Who are you?" she faltered at last; "you who come as a slave, bearing
the face of a shade?"

"I _am_ a shade," he answered; "one sent back by Orcus--by the hand of
Mercury, to save a Roman woman from dishonour."

"Oh, my lord Lucius!" she cried, falling upon her knees and holding out
her hands toward him. "Truly it was not dishonour to avenge you, to
save the Republic; but if it were, then may your manes pity and forgive
me. There, now, is the dagger. Take it and use it, so that I, too,
may be your companion when you return to the land that owns you. I
love you, Lucius; the laughter of the old days has passed. Surely a
woman who is about to die may say to the dead words which a girl might
not say to her lover for the shame of them. I love you--I love you.
Take me before the maiden, Proserpine, that she may show us favour--to
your land--"

The lamp fell from her hand; she felt herself raised suddenly from the
pavement, and strained hard against a bosom that rose and fell with all
the pulsations of life and love. Frightened, wondering, she struggled
faintly, while kisses warm and human fell upon her brow, her eyes, her
lips.

"Marcia, little bird, dearest, purest, best," murmured a voice close to
her ear; "yes, you shall go with me to my land, and that land is Rome."

Still she trembled in his arms, not daring to believe.

"Wait," he said. Then, releasing her for a moment, he regained the
fallen lamp, relighted it and placed it in its niche, facing her again
with arms outspread.

"Look well; am I not indeed Lucius Sergius--once pierced and worn with
wounds, but now well and strong to fight or love? The tale I told you
was true. It was my tale--the saving of one Roman from the slaughter
of her legions."

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